Unexpected Divination
by fernland
Summary: Fleur visits a psychic and ends up on an unexpected journey from depression into love. Do expect meddling co-workers, wise witches, crystals, Unspeakables, and elevator rides. Fleurmione.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hi! This is a prompt based Fleurmione piece for my ff*net Divination Class. I haven't used prompts before this or had a deadline before, so the pace is vey quick; basically it's short with an extremely fluffy ending. :)**

* * *

Fleur had a co-worker who paid attention to the little details about people and would prescribe strange solutions to their problems. One day a piece of paper was placed in Fleur's palm, followed by an unexpected squeeze of her hand; she had finally noticed Fleur.

"Do this hun, and don't wait too long," she said before she was off as quick as she came.

Fleur heard her talking again a few desks down. "No! Take two at night and one in the morning. Three weeks—no less, no more." Fleur couldn't hear the recipient's reply, but imagined the compliant nodding she witnessed others doing during similar reprimands.

When Fleur was alone, she opened the paper. _Let someone with the sight help_. Under the sentence was an address.

That night in bed she thought of how she used to share her room with Bill. She stared at the shells affixed to the plaster of the walls. Tonight their stasis made her sad; they could no longer turn slowly into sand, nor could they become some sea creature's home. She knew her depression pushed him away. Like a wave, she had repeatedly curled into herself and away from him.

* * *

It took three days for Fleur to go to the address. The shop wasn't sinister like ones found in Knockturn Alley, but it didn't exactly have the mercantile qualities Fleur was accustom to. She stared at odd, decorative wall fabrics and shelves lined with books and brown-tinted jars as she waited in the not quite dingy, but obviously not above-board establishment.

Fleur wondered if she should make a run for it. But it was too late; an old, skinny woman was walking towards her. Tiny glasses rested on top of her curly, long, white hair. The purple dress she wore ran all the way to her sandals.

"You're already here, dear. Might as well make a go of it," the witch stated matter-of-fact, her smile stretching between two very rosy cheeks.

Fleur nodded and let herself be led to a table in the left corner of the room. On it Fleur saw tarot cards; a white, cloudy crystal ball; a collection of colorful, large, and small crystals; and books that breathed magic. Once the woman sat, she closed her eyes and took long, deep breaths. When she next looked at Fleur, her stare was pointed.

"What you want is dangerous, Veela. Let me see if I can help."

Fleur felt the anxiety and shame of her want being exposed. She had never even spoken the wish aloud and was near breathless at the thought of its possibility.

"So, you can take it away?" Fleur asked, hopeful.

"_That_ is beyond me and I'm not convinced it will solve your problem. I can give you perspective though. Will you accept my terms?"

"What terms?" Fleur asked, now wary.

"I'll let you know when they arrive. That's the deal." She leaned back to wait for Fleur's reply.

The old witch speaking of the terms as if they had their own modality of communication baffled Fleur. She knew that being the client of someone with the sight would make for an interesting visit. However, making a deal potentially bound by magic should not be taken lightly. But as Fleur pondered the risks, her want bubbled up inside of her; the part of her that would give almost anything for peace was there, pushing against her throat to say the words.

"Yes, I accept your terms."

* * *

Many things happened. First, the old witch rubbed her hands together and told Fleur to put her's on the table. Then the woman placed her hands on top of Fleur's. Immediately Fleur could feel thrumming and a calm warmth.

"Are you ready, dear?" the witch asked, her wide smile returning.

Fleur liked the feel of the woman's smile and her skinny, powerful hands. "Yes," she replied.

The witch let go of Fleur's hands to shuffle her tarot deck. After asking Fleur to cut the deck, she laid out three cards. Nodding, she pressed a long finger against the first card. "Ten of Wands. Saturn in Sagittarius. Repression, parting, isolation."

She then moved her finger to the next card. "The Tower. Mars. All must be destroyed to make room for the new. Nothing is saved in the act of healing, dear. You must let go."

She tapped the last card for a few seconds and squinted her eyes at the card and then at Fleur. Finally she said, "A woman. The Princess of Wands. The Sun. She is freed from fear. A new beginning."

"I will have a new beginning?" Fleur asked, suddenly pleased as she stared at the powerful woman on the card.

"I have no doubt that you will. But this isn't you. This is someone else." The woman cackled and raised her eyebrows. Fleur retained her composure and attempted not to show some complicated, once thought buried feelings.

The woman shook her head at Fleur. "You always hide what you want and it must be hard that most who see you cannot hide their wants from you. Yes?"

Fleur's downcast eyes swelled at the woman's unabashed perceptiveness. As her tears fell, she heard the clamor of crystals moving around.

"Here take this rose quartz. Put it on your heart every night."

"Yes," Fleur agreed as she took the crystal. It felt good in her hand.

"Now, let me—" The woman didn't complete her sentence before her eyes turned a cloudy white, similar to the crystal ball. In a voice that was not completely her own, she bellowed, "The Unspeakables will try and she will change." Then she snorted, and smiled. In her normal voice she continued, "Let me see. Let me see. Oh yes, I will give you a tea. Drink it daily before you use the crystal—and it wouldn't hurt to look at the images you see in the tea cup after. The universe leaves its own clues, dear. Yes?"

"Yes, it does." Fleur said, complying quickly. But her mind was still on the sentence about the Unspeakables. What would they have to do with her?

In quiet awe of just receiving a prophecy, Fleur watched the witch shuffle to her jars.

"May I ask now what your terms are?"

"Yes! Good timing. You are to follow _all_ of my directions," she answered as she put her glasses on to read labels.

Fleur wanted to laugh. "Those are your terms?"

"Yes. I hate it when my clients don't do what I say." She complained grumpily.

"Am I bound by magic?" Fleur asked, concern rising again.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" She replied with a wink as she opened a jar lid.

Fleur stared and realized the woman looked familiar. "Are you by chance related to—"

"Yes! And I never get any peace for all the people she sends and advice she asks for! Nothing personal—I'm glad you came, but you must know I am past the age of retirement!"

Fleur smiled at the revelation about her co-worker. "Oh, I didn't realize. I hope you get to retire soon."

"Yes. Me too." She handed Fleur the bag of bulk tea. "Listen, dear, I sense that I lost a few seconds back there. It would do you well not to focus too much on what I said then."

Fleur nodded. "Thank you for everything."

"You're welcome. The bill is in the bag too." The woman smiled and it made Fleur smile too. As she walked out, the witch tapped on the Fleur's back. "You are too tense and too sad. Drink my tea."


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione hadn't seen Fleur since Ron's brother left three months ago and now the blonde witch was entering her elevator at the Ministry. Fleur hadn't noticed Hermione in the corner; she turned from the witch, who in silent shock, watched as Fleur pressed the button to go to the ninth floor.

"Hello Fleur," Hermione said politely. She could see the woman's shoulders tense at her greeting. Fleur turned and smiled though.

"Allo Hermione. You are looking well." It was true; Fleur noticed how the witch's brown shirt perfectly matched her beautiful, serious eyes.

"Thank you." Hermione said, smiling at the unexpected compliment. She was about to ask why Fleur was going to the Department of Mysteries, but her floor came too quick. To her own surprise, the witch was damning that her department was only on the second floor.

"Its my floor," Hermione stated awkwardly.

Fleur could tell the witch wanted to say more but she was feeling too vulnerable to encourage their conversation; she knew that Hermione must be wondering why she was going to the Department of Mysteries. Luckily Hermione had begun to step out.

"Have a good day at work." Fleur said. She had tried to sound casual, but the strain was there.

"Thanks," she replied. The doors were closing as Hermione turned back. She saw Fleur's melancholy smile and continued to see it as she stared at the now closed elevator doors; curiosity and concern for Fleur steadily growing in her mind.

* * *

Later at her flat, Hermione's mind returned to Fleur as she watched Ron reading a new quidditch magazine.

"I saw Fleur today at the Ministry."

"Is she still mental?" Ron replied, not lifting his head.

Hermione felt the familiar stirring of old resentment. "Ron, imagine yourself with more emotional intelligence and a genuine interest in the well-being of others. What do you see? Can you even picture it?"

"What?" Ron's eyebrows narrowed. "What did I do?"

"It's barely what you do, Ron. It's what you _don't_ do. That's why—"

"I don't want to hear about why we broke up again, Hermione—and I don't need therapy. " He ruffled his magazine with extra zeal and put his face closer to a page; his obvious way of shaking off their discussion.

"When is Harry getting here?" he asked a few minutes later. At this point, his nose was almost touching the paper.

Hermione was already exasperated and Ron had only been in her home for twenty minutes. "He'll be here when he gets here. Do you need glasses suddenly, or do you think your magazine is actually big enough to hide in?"

"What would Ron need to hide from?" Harry's voice broke in, causing Ron and Hermione to turn their heads in unison. Harry's voice had a certain happy quality sometimes. Its mixture of intimacy and gratitude is what usually neutralized most of the tension between his two friends.

"Hi Harry." Hermione said, smiling.

"Hey Harry. Got the new quidditch stats today." Ron lifted the magazine.

"Cool. Bring it with. Let's go. I'm ready for a drink and some dinner."

And so their ritual of weekly dinner ensued. After a few butter beers, Hermione always appreciated Ron a little more. Though, she did wait for him to use the washroom before she brought up Fleur to Harry.

"I saw Fleur at the Ministry today, Harry. She was going to the ninth floor," Hermione whispered, leaning towards her friend.

"Why would she be going there?"

"I don't know, but she didn't look well. She looked tired and…I don't know how to describe it, Harry— Fleur seemed dimmer."

Harry took a gulp of his beer. "What do you mean 'dimmer'?"

"Like her light has been dulled or something. I can't describe it. It's just a gut feeling I have."

"Oh."

"You know, we were never really close, but Fleur looked after me when Bellatrix…" Hermione rubbed the edge of her beer glass. "Anyway, she was kind to me. I didn't always care for her, but I started to, Harry. I care and now she is just gone and is..." Hermione stopped, looking for the right words.

"Potentially in trouble?" Harry added.

"Exactly. After Bill—" Hermione paused as she saw Ron approaching.

"Another round?" Ron asked merrily.

Hermione nodded and Harry gave him a thumbs up, both waiting for Ron to make it to the bar before speaking again.

"Hermione, I know some aurors that may be able to help us figure out what's going on. I will do what I can, okay?"

"Thanks Harry." His eyes reassured Hermione; he had never let her down the way Ron had. Trusting his words helped put her mind at ease.

* * *

The next few days inched by for Hermione. Harry was having no luck getting information on the Department of Mysteries. She hounded him a couple times via owl. It was disappointing when she got his response.

_They aren't called the Unspeakables for nothing, Hermione. Just give me time.—Harry_

Hermione crumpled the letter, her mind returning to times at Shell Cottage. Flashes of the blonde witch passed before her. Sitting on the couch, their hands just inches apart. Lying on a beach blanket, side by side. The more she thought about Fleur, she noticed in all her memories she was as close as possible to the witch. She questioned if it was only her that sought contact and the deeper she dived into her memories she found that it wasn't; Fleur had initiated also.

A panic rose inside her. For years Hermione had internally chastised Ron for not being cognizant of his feelings and now she sat in her office replaying all the supposed 'impromptu' time she had spent with Fleur. She can even recall complaining to Ron that they didn't visit his brother enough. Hermione's cheeks burned at the recollection and her new realization; she had wanted Fleur then, she still wanted her, _and_ something bad was happening to her in the Department of Mysteries. Hermione grabbed the closest book on her desk and rushed out of her office.


	3. Chapter 3

Fleur tried not to be afraid of the risks, but still she was scared at times since she wasn't completely following the old witch's terms. Fleur had in fact mulled the prophecy over and over in her mind. Eventually it resulted in her luring an Unspeakable into meeting with her. She tempted him just enough to tip the scale in favor of his curiosity, and her goal as a result. Through him, Fleur gained entrance into the Department of Mysteries.

She suspected that the Department of Mysteries wouldn't give the same weight to ethics as other departments in the Ministry. Like rain invites puddles to fill every crack and dip, mystery invites moral ambiguity. So, Fleur found a crack and slipped in. If the Unspeakables knew what Fleur knew, that magic-induced reactions isn't love, even if the chemistry looked the same, maybe they wouldn't have wanted to help. Or maybe they knew and didn't care either way. A mystery is a mystery; and this one ran deep in her blood.

Fleur walked into the elevator, pleased it was empty. The night before she had drank her tea and placed the rose crystal on her chest, as was her evening ritual. It always ached at first, as if it pained her heart to open. An expansive feeling of oneness inevitably followed.

Some nights as she fell asleep with the crystal she would see Bill's face. Other times it was Hermione's. Last night, she saw the old witch's smile and now the memory was causing her to second-guess herself. But when the doors opened, she swallowed her fears. The image of the Tower card filled her. 'All must be destroyed to make room for the new'. This is what will make her new start possible.

* * *

Fleur always felt hazy after. Being bombarded with legilimancy, tests, and abnormal magic she could had never even conceptualized, left her raw and weak. As she walked into the atrium, she saw Hermione leaning against the far wall with a book in her hand. Fleur questioned if the witch had been waiting for her arrival and immediately shook the thought; it never served her to linger too much on thoughts of Hermione. Fleur smiled and walked towards her, seeing that the other witch was already in pursuit. Hermione reached her fast.

"Fleur. Hi," She said quickly, her body fidgety.

Fleur wondered at Hermione's uneasiness. "Playing hooky in the atrium, Hermione?" Fleur smiled as her eyes moved from Hermione's eyes to the book in her hand and back again. The ruse didn't work though; the brunette's face was as serious as ever, even after Fleur's playful remark.

"Meet me for tea. Now."

This was not a request. It was words instantly made into fact by Hermione's will. Then Fleur's arm was curled around Hermione's as she was led to the nearest floo. Fleur had seen Hermione's assertiveness in action over the years. Though, it had never been directed at her.

"I'll see you in a minute," Hermione said as she walked into the fireplace. She stated her address; her eyes never leaving Fleur's. When Hermione disappeared, Fleur followed suit and repeated the address she heard.

* * *

Fleur arrived at Hermione's flat, her exhaustion showing; dark circles under her eyes, and a sallow complexion had become her usual appearance after a day at the Ministry. On most days she napped for a few hours, but not today. Today she was face to face with a very concerned, agitated witch.

"Sit down, Fleur," Hermione ordered. "You look absolutely wretched."

Fleur rolled her eyes. "Always so charming, Hermione?"

Hermione's eyes looked worried again. "I mean—"

"It's fine, really. I know I look tired. I will sit."

"Good."

Hermione served Fleur tea and stared at her as she drank. "We haven't seen you in a while. I mean, _I_ haven't seen you in a while and when I noticed you—"

"Going to the ninth floor?"

"Yes," Hermione said, stretching out the word, "I was…" Hermione rolled her lips, seemingly lost in thought.

"Concerned? Yes, most people would wonder at that."

"I didn't just wonder, Fleur, I worried too. You seem to be in a bad way."

Fleur wanted the perfect words to placate Hermione. She hadn't invented a cover for her actions at the Department of Mysteries because she assumed there wasn't anyone keeping an eye on her. She never pursued friendship with any of the Weasley's after Bill left her, or Hermione; especially Hermione because their connection had a confusing edge that seemed best ignored.

As much as she and the other witch gravitated towards each other at the cottage, nothing was ever very direct like how Hermione was being now. They would somehow end up in the same room reading for hours or sitting next to each other at gatherings. Hermione would notice Fleur by the shore and join her. Looking back, Fleur could see that all those quiet moments must have added up to an odd, yet sweet friendship; Hermione was now acting like a friend would.

"Hermione, I appreciate your concern. I am not in danger though. I am just having my Veela heritage explored at the Department for the sake of research. It's nothing to worry about, really."

"Normal science shouldn't look like this—it's making you sick." Hermione put her hand on Fleur's, causing her blue eyes to flick down.

Hermione wondered how many times their hands had been so close; yet they really never touched until now. She pushed the thought back and continued, "What is so important that you are willing to make yourself sick?"

"Hermione, I want to move through the world differently. I want true love."

Hermione nodded in understanding. "Fleur, are you trying to get your thrall removed?"

"Yes," Flear admitted, tears finding their way out. "I know Bill loved me, but I didn't love myself. I had nothing to give him; I hid myself for so long that I couldn't find who I was. I think if I become normal, I won't have to constantly retract from people. I can feel free to live in my skin without people's eyes on me."

They were quiet for a while before Hermione pushed her chair closer to Fleur and enclosed her in a hug. "You know, Fleur, I didn't realize how much I missed you until I saw you that day in the elevator. Now I realize that I think I've always missed you, even the times we were in the same room."

Fleur pulled away slightly to see Hermione's face. Immense warmth was newly revealed in Hermione's eyes; it gave Fleur almost the same feeling as when she used the crystal. "What are you saying, Hermione?"

"Well, I am saying that I'm sorry you're going through this, Fleur—and that I love you, and of course, you need to stop going to the Department of Mysteries." Hermione laughed a little, embarrassed. "That came out a bit scrambled, really. But—"

"You love me?" Fleur asked. Her face brightened with the unexpected news.

Hermione was excited and pleased by Fleur's expression. "Yes, I do. There was never a good time to feel it." Hermione shook her head. "I pushed it away, Fleur. But seeing you this week…Well, I've been kind of a wreck worrying and wondering," Hermione paused and smiled, "and remembering our time together."

Fleur raised her hand to Hermione's cheek. "There were many times when we laid together on the beach that I wanted to kiss you...I always felt guilty."

"Me too. But we don't have to push our feelings away anymore, Fleur. You can have love without making yourself sick."

Fleur smiled and nodded in agreement.

"So, you'll stop going?" Hermione pleaded as she pressed into Fleur's hand.

"Or face the wrath of Hermione Granger? I think we both know which one is more dangerous," Fleur joked.

Hermione laughed. "Good. I want you to stay exactly how you are." She moved closer to Fleur's face till their noses were almost touching. "You are wonderful just as you are."

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading and please excuse the extra cheesy, lovey stuff at the end. I just can't help it sometimes! **


End file.
